


First Days

by sartiebodyshots



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:58:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartiebodyshots/pseuds/sartiebodyshots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran, in order to fulfil his promise to the Warden, polishes her armor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Days

Sereda pokes her head out of her tent to see Zevran sitting by the fire.  That’s a fairly normal occurrence, or so she would assume.  He’s only been around for a few days.  

What’s unusual is that he has her armor.  

“What are you doing?” Sereda asks quietly, not wanting to wake anyone.

Zevran looks over his shoulder with a lazy grin.  “I’m polishing your armor, of course.”

“Yeah, I can see that.  Why?” Sereda asks.  

“I told you I would, and you spared my life.  It is a good idea to keep promises to those who spare your life,” Zevran says, returning to work.

Sereda pulls herself out of her tent, shivering a little in the cool morning air.  She comes to sit beside him and watches him work.  It’s strange.  Of course, she used to have servants polish and maintain her armor, but things are different now.  She’s not a princess anymore, and she has to take care of herself.  

“You don’t have to do that,” Sereda finally says.  “You don’t have to, like, serve me.”

“Oh?” Zevran asks. “Is that not why you spared my life?”

“Not really,” Sereda says.  “I figured we could use the help stopping the Blight, but I’m not about to turn you into some kind of personal servant.”

“You are quite forgiving, considering how we met,” Zevran observes.

“It’s not like it was personal,” Sereda says with a shrug.

Zevran tilts his head, examining her closely.  She stares back, shivering.  Whatever he’s looking for, she hopes he finds it.  

“Not many people understand that distinction,” Zevran says eventually.  “They tend to find attempted assassination very personal.”

“I mean, it can be.  But it’s pretty clear that you don’t have any personal animosity towards me or Alistair,” Sereda says.  “I mean, you could be faking it, this could all be lies, but I have a good feeling about you.”

“As do many women,” Zevran quips.  

“Not like that,” Sereda says, rolling her eyes a little.  “You’re charming, yes, but I'm usually pretty good at seeing past charm.”

“Usually?” Zevran asks.  

The taste of Bhelen’s betrayal is still bitter in her mouth.   

“Everyone has their blind spots.  But mine don't include handsome surfacers, luckily,” Sereda says lightly.  

“I will be certain to keep that in mind,” Zevran says, still rubbing the rag over her armor.  “So what made you so understanding of attempted assassination?”

Sereda keeps herself collected as Zevran examines her.  Nobody else seems quite as curious about her past as Zevran.  She's good at keeping her secrets, though.  At least until they return to Orzammar.  

“Now, Zevran, that would be telling,” Sereda says.  “I'd rather remain an alluring secret.”

“Ah, Warden, secret or no, you're bound to be an alluring woman,” Zevran says.

“But for now, I’d rather also remain a secret woman,” Sereda says with a smile.  “And one who polishes her own armor, I suppose.”

“And is that a change?” Zevran asks.  

Sereda stares right at him, keeping her voice deadpan.  If she mixes enough fact in with the lies, it’ll keep him from getting suspicious on the off chance they hear rumors from Orzammar.  

“Of course!  I’m an exiled _princess_ , framed for the murder of my brother, heir to the throne, by my jealous younger brother.  When we return to Orzammar, I plan to exact bloody revenge and place myself on the throne to rule the dwarven people with an iron fist,” Sereda says primly.  

Zevran blinks and then laughs so hard that he drops the rag.  

“You almost had me for a second, my dear,” Zevran says, leaning down to grab the rag and start polishing again.

Part of her wishes he had seen through her.  Part of her wants someone to know the truth about her, so if she does die up here, at least someone will be able to rub it in Bhelen’s face that she made it to the surface.  She didn’t die where she was supposed to.  

But Sereda smiles.  “You’re still cleaning my armor, Zevran.”

“So I am,” Zevran says.

“You still don’t have to,” Sereda says, looking up at him with a reassuring smile.  

“But it is so unfortunate to leave a job unfinished, no?” Zevran says.

“Maybe don’t say that to the person you failed to assassinate,” Sereda says with a laugh.  “I’ll start to worry that you want to finish that job, too.”

Zevran joins her in laughing.  “You make an excellent point, my dear.  But that’s one job that I’m quite happy to leave undone.  I have sworn you an oath of loyalty, and I am quite serious about it.”

“That’s a relief,” Sereda says.  There’s a long pause.  “So, you’re going to finish up with the armor, I take it?”

“Unless you tell me to stop, but I would prefer you didn’t just yet,” Zevran says.  “You would look quite silly with half polished armor, no?”

“Okay, Zevran.  You can finish up polishing, but just know that you don’t have to,” Sereda says.  

Zevran nods and looks back down at her armor.  He’s giving her armor plenty of attention and she finds herself watching him in turn.  

“I’ve got to get ready for the day,” Sereda says when it becomes too awkward to keep sitting there staring at him.

“I will be certain to have your armor ready by the time we break camp,” Zevran says, not looking up.

Sereda gets to her feet and quickly pats Zevran on the shoulder before she can think better of it.  “Thank you.  I, uh, appreciate you doing this for me.”

Zevran stills for a moment before nodding a little.  “It’s my pleasure, Warden.”

Sereda retreats to her tent and changes out of her nightclothes into the clothes she wears under her armor.  A few minutes later, there’s a soft knock on the flap of her tent.

“Warden, it’s your armor, as promised,” Zevran’s voice is soft.

She opens the tent flap, surprised that he’s already halfway across camp.  The armor is resting in a neat pile.  It’s shining bright in the early morning sunlight and she’s surprised with the care that he’s taken.  

Zevran is watching her from across camp, even though he’s chatting casually with Alistair.  She gives him a little smile of appreciation before putting it on, piece by piece.


End file.
